


What Once Was, What Now Is

by MarlenaWatches



Category: Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, Unresolved Emotional Tension, maybe eventual romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-15 04:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4592871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarlenaWatches/pseuds/MarlenaWatches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I always thought that F Cousland and Nathaniel Howe had a lot more to work through than was shown in the Awakening DLC.  This is my own take on it.  There will be canon divergence.  Also, this is my first work, and I'm having trouble figuring out how to add/categorize chapters.  There will be more of this story, just gotta figure out the formatting....</p><p>Also, yay kudos!  And comments are very welcome!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reacquaintence

The Warden Commander had been quite taken with Nathaniel Howe as a child, in a time when their families had still been friends and allies. Lifetimes ago, it seemed to her now. Seeing him here, on the other side of his father's betrayal and her own long-awaited revenge, after all she'd suffered, both as a Warden and as a Cousland, she found that the old Hate roiling in her belly had shriveled; become dry and stale.

Then she saw the resentment written on his face, fury clear in his eyes as he glared up from his seat on the flag stones, the bars of his cell casting slanted shadows across his silent form. The Hatred stirred in response, though retreated as she took note of the purple hollows under his eyes, how filthy his hair and clothes were, and the way in which his shirt hung loosely across a chest somewhat diminished by recent malnutrition. Her eyes narrowed as she spotted an angry gash in his thigh. It obviously hadn't been tended to, and her gaze shifted to the man standing at her side; "Seneschal, fetch Anders; this man needs healing."

The guard standing at attention by the cell door snorted, and she shot him a pointed look, asking quietly "Something to say, guardsman?" Wisely, he cleared his throat and dropped his eyes; "N-no Ser, Warden Commander." She turned her attention back to the prisoner as the Seneschal retreated to his task, and greeted him softly; "Hullo, Nathan."

His eyes narrowed to slits as he snarled in response; " ** _You_** don't get to call me that, **_Murderer._** " The Hate, quiet and lethargic only a moment before, flared viciously and she grasped the bars of the cell, leaning forward as she hissed; "Do **_not_** speak to **_me_** of murder, **_Nathan_**. Your father killed everyone in my House the night he took the castle. Friends who happened to be visiting, resident clergy, kitchen staff, my brother's **_wife_** and seven-year-old **_son_**. My **_mother_** and **_father_**...all **SLAUGHTERED** in the night, and I would be dead alongside them, if not for the Warden's little recruitment pitch, made just as I was attempting to stuff my dying father's **_entrails_** back into his **_body_**..."

She realized with a start that the bars had started to creak in her fists, she was squeezing them so hard, and quickly released them, stepping back. After rolling sore shoulders and letting out a deep breath, she continued more calmly, "I put your _traitor_ father down like the _mad dog_ he was. It remains to be seen if _you_ must follow suite." He was silent at that, then asked cautiously, "You mean you haven't decided to just hang me outright?" "You are not your father," came the uncomplicated response.

He grunted, and their conversation paused as Anders appeared, traipsing down the stairs with the Seneschal, a look of amused curiosity playing about his lips. She motioned for the guard to open the cell, and spoke with the Seneschal as Anders knelt beside the prisoner, who eyed the mage with distrust. "Commander this man is a Howe, a poisonous snake and a clear danger; why bother healing him? You should hang him and remove the threat he poses." She shook her head, "I would know why he's come here. I knew this man once, I'd like to hear what he has to say."

Nathaniel Howe sneered; "How **_generous_** of you, Talitha, but I'm afraid you'll agree with your toady once I tell you of my purpose here." He looked down at his leg as Anders sealed the cut with a pass of his hands. "I came to kill you, to avenge my family's downfall." He looked back up at her, and the resentful defeat in his tired face made her heart twist as he continued, "Once I got here, however, I realized all I wanted was to recover a few of my family's things." He looked away then, as Anders stood, brushing down the front of his robes. "He'll live. At least, till you say otherwise." With that, the mage retreated to a corner of the room and leaned silently against the stone wall, watching the proceedings with avid interest.

The Warden Commander sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, a headache throbbing behind tired eyes. The last two days had been bloody, confusing, and exhausting; all she wanted now was a bath and a bed. She stepped into the cell, and Nathaniel stood, testing his leg and eyeing her warily. It pained her to see him like this; more akin to a cornered animal than the mischievous boy she and her brother used to run off with while their parents held meetings and did boring adult things.

Reminiscing, she asked, "What would you do if I just let you go?" His jaw dropped, his dark brown eyes widened in surprise momentarily, then narrowed again; "I....don't know. Maybe I'll come back and finish you off. Maybe you won't catch me next time." His eyes glittered with malice. The Commander frowned, crossed her arms and said shortly "You're not making a very good case for yourself, Nathaniel." He sniggered, and responded scornfully; "What have I to live for, other than revenge? My name ensures my continued disgrace-"So why not work to **_redeem_** your name?" she interrupted, stepping closer, ignoring the sour odor rising off the unwashed man. He laughed once, a hard, bitter noise, "I'm sure King Alistair would **_love_** to have a **_Howe_** enlisted in his army; I'll rise right through the ranks, I'm sure." "Cut the sarcastic dog shit, Nathan, I'm not in the mood. What skills do you have?" She snapped impatiently, glaring.

He blinked, surprised at the question, but answered honestly, "I'm good with a bow, have trained in stealth, espionage, poisons...why?" The Commander turned away without answering, instead addressing the Seneschal as she stepped out of the cell; "Give him his familial effects and have a room in the Keep made up for him. Tomorrow he takes the Joining. I want him for the Wardens." The Seneschal sputtered in disbelief, Anders laughed outright and Nathaniel sat back down in shock, protesting shrilly " _No!_ I'd rather _hang!_ " The Commander turned back to face him as she responded calmly; "I'm not giving you that option."

He shook his head, bemused, "Why would you want someone who wants to kill you in the Wardens?" She shrugged and flashed him a wry grin, "Some of my best friends have tried to kill me. We'll see how you do... **_if_** you survive the Joining." With that she stalked out of the jail and made for her bedroom, thoroughly done with the day.

Nathaniel was escorted via armed guard to a room in the family wing of the Keep. He recognized it as his sister's bed-chamber. He blinked away old memories, biting down on the bitterness rising in the back of his throat like bile. _No good dwelling. One moment at a time; I'll figure a way out._  

A bath had been drawn for him; steam rose alluringly from the tub in the center of the room. The family heirlooms and armor he'd been caught with lay in a neat pile on the bed-spread, beside a serving tray laden with bread, cheese, a bowl of stew and a mug of what turned out to be mulled cider. "Cousland bitch." he fumed, "I can't even hate you for mistreating me. What's your blighted **_game?!_** "

Despite his misgivings, he washed, ate, and fell into the bed feeling almost human for the first time in weeks. Anger and confusion ran his mind in circles of suspicion and escape strategies. Tossing fitfully, he waited for some trap or trick to manifest, a slew of guards bursting through the door to clap him in irons, or a silent assassin slipping in through the window to slit his throat as soon as he allowed himself to slumber....

Entertaining these and many other, equally morbid scenarios, exhaustion finally won out, and Nathaniel fell into uneasy sleep, dreaming of a small girl with a bright smile and auburn braids, who laughed often, feared little, and stole apple tarts to share down by the lake between their lands. Her brother Fergus was just as carefree; gap-toothed grin just as crooked as he remembered.

Nathan was a boy of twelve, out in the fields with his friends playing Knights and Dragons, laughing as the Cousland's old Mabari chased ground squirrels into the tall grass. "I'm glad you came, Nathan. I wanted to give you something before you went away to the Free Marches." Nathan cocked his head in curiousity as Talitha settled cross-legged on the ground beside him. Off in the grass to their left Fergus cheered the Mabari on in his chase of hapless rodents.

"You didn't have to get me anything, Tally. I'll see you and Fergus again come next Harvestmere." She wrinkled her nose, shaking her head; "That's **_ages_** away, and I'll be stuck here learning **_Lady_** shite while you're off having **_adventures_** across the **_sea._** It's not **_fair_**." Her gift momentarily forgotten, she scowled, glaring at the dirt.

"I'll bring something for you when I come back, yeah? Like a dagger, or a treasure map!" Placated, she grinned and held out her hand; "You shake on it?" Nathan took her small, slightly sticky hand in his own and shook it firmly; "On my honor as a Howe." "Good." Her smile faded then, and after a moment she leaned forward and planted a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth.

Shocked silent, he turned toward her as she drew back just enough to look him full in the face. She regarded him solemnly, her sky-blue eyes watching his reaction. After several long heartbeats, he leaned forward and set his mouth gently against hers. She closed her eyes and returned the pressure, and his stomach fluttered strangely.

His own eyes slid closed, and he reached out to gather Talitha closer, but his arms closed on nothing, and suddenly there was a feminine voice whispering savagely in his ear; "What HONOR can a HOWE have?" His eyes flew open and he was faced with Talitha grown to full womanhood, armored and battle-scarred, her sword bathed in crimson, and he knew it was the blood of his father.

The lake had disappeared, replaced with the dining hall of castle Cousland. "Look," she commanded, sweeping her sword before her, drawing his eye about the room. He gazed down at all the bloodied bodies scattered across the floor, piled on tables, sprawled on the stone steps leading up to the two thrones facing the splintered front doors, in which Teryn Cousland and his wife sat slumped, side by side.  Their clothes were slashed to tatters, blood and entrails dripping down the oaken arm rests. At Lady Cousland's feet lay Orianna and Oren, Fergus' wife and child, just as mutilated as every other body in the hall. Nathan recoiled in horror. "See what a Howe's Honor is worth!" bellowed Talitha, holding the severed head of Rendon Howe aloft in grim exaltation....

Nathaniel woke gasping, panicked, to find himself in his family's old Keep, in his sister's room and bed, the sun not yet risen. He threw off the covers, and as quietly as he could, dressed and armed himself. There were secret passages which connected all the rooms in the family wing, and if he was very careful, and extremely lucky, he could make it to the laundry chute and climb down to the servant's quarters, where a large drain lay in the floor covered by a heavy but not immobile grate, which lead down into the sewers, and out of Vigil's Keep.

Pressing a section of stone into the mason-work covering the mantle-piece closest to the far corner of the room, he smiled as a previously solid section of wall slid sideways. Nathaniel rejoiced to find that this secret had remained undiscovered by the Keep's current inhabitants, and slipped into the passage, replacing the door behind him. He turned and padded steadily toward what had been his own room, a lifetime ago.

As soon as he stepped into the chamber he realized it was occupied. Someone shifted in the bed and then laid still, breathing deep and steady. Avoiding the bed, he crept across the room to the far wall, intent upon his escape. A noise stopped him. A groan. He recognized the voice. Talitha. _Shit. The Cousland Bitch WOULD be in my old room..._

He warred with himself a moment, and when he heard her shift again and mumble in distress he swore silently at himself before making his way to her bedside. He looked down at the woman laying under the covers with varying degrees of hatred, shame, fear and regret roiling in his chest. She was obviously having a nightmare, and his mouth twisted upward in satisfaction; _Good. I hope they're frequent. And frightening._

As he watched her something occurred to him. He could redeem his family's name as a Grey Warden, and allowing himself to be recruited by the Cousland Bitch would put him close enough to her that he could exact his vengeance in any number of creative ways....hell, if he was patient and played his cards right, he could end up Warden Commander, in control of his family's Keep once more, after arranging some unfortunate accident for Talitha...

he blinked owlishly as he unwittingly invoked her name, which brought back unwelcome images of the girl who'd kissed him by the lake all those years ago. That had been the Gift; a tentative, unspoken question, an almost-promise, eroded to nothing by time, tragedy and the Blight.

He studied the face of the woman she'd become, forcing detachment. _She's pretty, in a hard sort of way._ High cheekbones, freckles sprinkled over a sloped nose, hair still auburn, though cut short it looked darker. A thin scar ran diagonally across her left brow, the scar tissue bisecting the hair of her eyebrow at it's apex. Her lips were full, her mouth wide, and currently turned down at the corners as she battled unknown torments. He wondered briefly what they were, whether he could find out, and if he'd be able to use them to bring her down. The thought excited him.

He came to a decision, turned silently, and made his way back to his sister's old room.


	2. Worse Before It's Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team begins to coalesce. This chapter is short because I'm having hell's own time pulling together fight scenes....maybe wine will help....

Talitha didn't know quite how to feel about Nathan making it through the Joining.

So, rather than facing complicated undercurrents of raw, unfettered emotion, she drew the mantle of Warden Commander securely about her person and settled on feeling appropriately satisfied at having one more Gray Warden brought to bear.

With half the nobility of Amaranthine plotting her downfall, in addition to reports of roving gangs of Darkspawn slaughtering farmers in their homes, _and_ the Merchant's Guild squawking desperately about caravans waylaid in the Wending Wood, she needed all the able bodies she could bribe, beg or bully into service.

"Anders, Oghren, get him back to his room and stay with him till he wakes; I've got to go check in on Dworkin."

  
Oghren began to growl in protest, but stopped short when Talitha looked at him pleadingly; " _Please,_ Oghren? I need him acclimated as quickly as possible, and having fellow Wardens at his side from the start, to answer questions and extend camaraderie will help facilitate that end."  She glanced down at the man in question, who was currently dead to the world, sprawled gracelessly on the red woven carpet of the throne room.  She sighed, and stated grimly; "If mine is the only face he knows of the Gray Wardens he'll _run_ , the only uncertainty being whether he sets fire to the Keep before he does."

With a grunt, Oghren responded sullenly "Ah sod it, Warden, you know I hate it when you say 'please'..." He quirked a bushy eyebrow at her,  "Gives me _ideas_ , heh heh heh..."  Talitha grinned wickedly and taunted, "I'm sure you remember our deal, dwarf."  He scowled and seized one of Nathan's arms as he snarled "Bathing's fer women and staff-twirlers.  And anyhow, the way it rains up here you'd think that would count fer _something...._ "  She shook her head sorrowfully; "Alas, I am but a finicky human female, set in my ways and unwavering in my hygienic preferences.  We are truly star-crossed."  Anders tried desperately not to giggle as he hoisted Nathan's other arm over his shoulder.

Winking at them both, Talitha made her way outside, hoping the lyrium-addled Dworkin hadn't had _too_ much luck with the latest batch of powder....

\-----------

Nathaniel started awake from one of the nastiest dreams he could remember having, all poisonous half-sung whispers, filthy shadows and grinning maws full of teeth too sharp to be human...  

"G'morning, Sunshine!" a voice like tumbled gravel under falling water greeted him enthusiastically, and he winced, bringing a hand to his eyes.  

"How are you feeling?" That was the healer who'd mended his leg in the jail cell;  _Anders, wasn't it...?_

He blinked at them, recognizing the room, and shook his head to clear it, muttering "Just  _fine_ , for a man pressed into unwilling service to the woman who killed his father in cold blood...." "Yer dear old Dad was responsible for some real underhanded, shit-heel nasty awfulness, Conscript," rumbled Oghren dangerously.  A tense silence fell.  

Anders piped in lightly; "He _did_ kill damn near everyone at castle Cousland, _and_ he tortured a bunch of people for Loghain while he was at Fort Drakon, poor buggers.  There are records, if you're interested!  Names, dates; it's all very detailed, actually-" " **No,** " came the emphatic response.  Nathaniel checked himself, and with effort continued more softly, _" ...._ Thank you....no."   _Records can be altered, or outright fabricated._

 "Well, now that you're awake and alert, gear up.  We'll head down for breakfast and fill you in on our glorious Mission!"  Nathaniel honestly couldn't tell if the exuberant cheer apparent in Anders' voice was sarcastic or not, but his stomach had growled demandingly at the mention of food, and he decided he didn't particularly care just then. In taciturn silence he grabbed his bow and slipped on his boots while Anders nattered on about the only decent way to cook an egg..  Setting his shoulders and his mind against whatever challenges might come, Nathaniel Howe followed the flame-haired dwarf and flamboyant Mage down to the mess hall.

"....So we can actually _sense_ them!  We can even tell how _many_ are near, given practice." Anders had been enthusiastically babbling about Warden perks for twenty minutes solid, between mouthfuls of roasted rabbit and root vegetables.  Nathaniel wondered silently to himself just what Ferelden's Circle must have been like, for the Mage to seem so cheerful about the results of his conscription. He shook his head, deciding he'd rather not know. Oghren belched and chimed in, "Tell 'im 'bout Warden _stamina,_ Sparklefingers!  Ha!"  He took another swig of whatever was in his mug, pungent liquid spilling over into his beard.  Nathaniel watched, nonplussed.

"Well, I haven't had an... _opportunity_...to really test it out, but I do feel _stronger_ , all around." Anders responded tacitly.  Nathaniel found himself smiling as he replied; "What, none of the fine ladies here in Vigil's Keep appreciate all that a well-dressed healer such as yourself obviously has to offer?"  Anders grinned, and scooted closer, answering silkily "Perhaps the fine _gentlemen_ prove more interesting?"  Nathaniel's smile widened into an all-out grin, endearingly awkward in it's obvious rarity as he acquiesced to the compliment; "You flatter me Anders.  I'd hate to divest the aforementioned ladies of your myriad charms; and I'm no gentleman, fine or otherwise."

"Ugh, if you two are gonna.... _canoodle_...lemme find somewhere else to be 'afore ya get into it, aye?" Oghren interjected, eyeing them both blearily.  Nathaniel laughed outright, relaxing in spite of himself, "No need, Ser Oghren; it was only a joke." He downed the remainder of his coffee and stood, stretching as he asked,  "So what's next for us today, now we're fed and...watered?" he ended the question delicately, glancing at the dwarf currently swaying in his seat.  Anders hid his disappointment with an engaging smile and replied; "We're to meet the Warden Commander at the Gate; she's set on purging the surrounding farmlands of Darkspawn.  I think we're in for an adventure."


	3. Breaking Down, Building Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talitha reacts rather poorly to the conspiracy to unseat her. She's had a few bad days, to put it mildly, and is thoroughly fed up of shortsighted selfishness.
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone who's been reading and leaving kudos! Comments and feedback more than welcome! Muah!

"Maker-Bedamned _WHORESONS!!_ " Rage and frustration roiled in her chest as Talitha jerked her short sword free of a dead Crow's neck. "You INBRED, ORLESIAN _ARSEHOLES!_ "

Oghren, Anders, and Nathaniel stood by and watched from a relatively safe distance as their Warden Commander stamped across the bloody farmyard, brandishing her blade and shouting invectives at the sky.

"MOTHERFUCKING _MONGRELS_ OF MAFERATH'S BY-BLOWS!" She pulled her hair down from its binding, fisting her free hand in it as she continued to pace. "Andraste's curly _CUNTHAIRS._..just what the SODDING, SHITTING, MISERABLE FADING _FUCK_ am I supposed to _DO_ with this RAGING PILE OF _STUPIDITY??_ "

Letting loose one last, wrathful shriek, Talitha threw her sword viciously into the trunk of a nearby tree, its tip sinking deep into the peeling bark with an audible _'thunk'_.

She stood still then, panting as she struggled to rein herself back in. Glancing down at the thoroughly dead bodies of Lord Guy and his co-conspirators, her frustration swelled.

"I have _SENTIENT_ FUCKING _DARKSPAWN_ running rampant, burning fields, seeding nests of new Horrors, and planning Andraste only _KNOWS_ what, now that they can actually _THINK_ , Maker save us!" That last was directed at the sky before she continued, striding back and forth in her fervor; "I have smugglers capitalizing upon the misfortune of refugees who survived the fucking BLIGHT, only to find themselves barred at the gates of a city I'd cheerfully demolish _MYSELF_ , if it meant I could use the stones to build halfway decent shelter for all those poor souls sleeping on the ground in patchwork tents, or bedded down like bales of _hay_ in fucking _OX CARTS!_ " She grasped the hilt of her blade and yanked it almost effortlessly out of its tree, and Anders wondered briefly how she managed not to wrench her shoulder right out of its socket.

"But of course I can't do that, or _anything_ constructive, really, because propped up here as I am to be the Pretend Lordling of a Moldering Ruin made useless by it's proximity to NOWHERE, I don't have the _actual_ power to make _actual_ decisions that _actually_ matter to _ACTUAL PEOPLE!_ "

She swung her sword in a wide arc around herself once more, then rammed it angrily back into the sheath on her belt, and Nathaniel thought idly to himself that she was damned lucky she hadn't sliced any of her fingers off in the process.

"And now _THESE_ nugfucking, tick-brained piles of MASTICATED COMPOST decide to stage a bloody _COUPE?_

 _Just_ when I'm making some semblance of _progress_ putting everything back together? Just when I'm securing trade that will feed and clothe and help provide for all the people in my charge? Am I the ONLY one in this MISERABLE corner of this MISERABLE country on this MISERABLE, MAKER-CURSED CONTINENT with HALF a _BRAIN??_ "

The last word of her tirade was a resonant, ringing shout, during which she hauled back a leg, swung it forward with all the strength of her core, and struck the remains of Ser Timothy's head soundly with her armoured boot. Having already been mostly severed from the neck by Oghren's ax, Ser Timothy's gory crown detached completely, and went arching almost gracefully through the air, sending droplets of blood whirling away as it spun.

Desperately trying to stifle his mirth at the sight, Ohgren attempted to mask his chortled laughter with an unconvincing cough. Talitha rounded on him before the head had even landed with a distant, thumping _squelch_. "Find something _amusing_ , Dwarf?" Oghren cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, "Erhm, no, Warden. Just thirsty is all."

She glared at him for a heartbeat, then seemed to gradually deflate. She turned away with a defeated sigh and leaned heavily against a fence post, looking for all the world like a particularly tired and rather lost child. After a moment's hesitation, Oghren plodded over and patted her arm awkwardly as he settled himself beside her.

"What am I going to _do_ , Oghren?" She asked as she stared bleakly at what was left of Stark's Farm. "How do I make these chittering Fade-monkeys see the damage they're doing to themselves?"

The dwarf's armor creaked and clanked as he extracted a flask from somewhere inside it and took a long swig. He offered the grog up to Talitha, and when she took it he responded, "Yeh don't." She coughed, having drawn from the flask a bit more deeply than she'd meant to, and looked down at him, brow furrowed in confusion at his words. He shook his head, uncharacteristically serious as he went on to explain; "I reckon you'll deal with this mess th' way you deal with most messes, Warden; yeh bash enough heads, beat enough bullies, bend enough rules to yer favor, that th' biggest and baddest left standing is you. The rest uhvem'll follow yer lead then, you just watch."

She considered his words thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded, and smiled slowly at him as she nudged his shoulder with her arm; "Thank you, Oghren. That actually helped." Oghren snorted, rumbling his retort; "Don't sound so sodding surprised, Warden; I'm fulla' wisdom and whatnot! Allya gotta do is ask."

He considered his flask a moment, then begrudgingly offered it up again. Smirking, she took it; "I'll keep that in mind, you mad drunk." She swallowed, wincing at the now-familiar burn as she handed it back. "Finicky female," He finished the flask, tucked it away and produced another, wiggling his bushy eyebrows suggestively as she cackled at him,"Arsewipe!" Oghren's grin was almost fond as he muttered, "Crazy Shrew."

 

"Does she often.... _explode_ like that?" Nathaniel asked quietly as he and Anders withdrew to allow Oghren some privacy with the Commander as he joined her on the fence.

"How should _I_ know? I've only known her a day longer than you have!" Anders hissed back, eyeing their leader with increasing alarm as the dwarf offered her something to drink. He worried his lower lip nervously between his teeth as he watched her accept the flask and take a deep drink.  "Not much for self-preservation, is she,"  he mused, wincing as she spluttered in response to the noxious brew.

"I ask only because I would like to _know_ if I'm following a homicidal _madwoman_ as she drags us back and forth across the Maker's creation," Nathaniel said, brow drawn low over his substantial nose.

Distracted from his Commander's self-poisoning, Anders rolled his eyes at him. "I thought you were already convinced she was? Mad and murderous, that is." "If the shoe fits, mage," came the curt reply.

"Flames to that, Nathaniel. She saved my life and she saved yours too, you great lump; just because you've got a chip on your shoulder the size of the Frostbacks and twice as chilly-" "Don't you DARE-" Nathaniel's diatribe fizzled out on his tongue, unfinished, as he was suddenly faced with Anders' incensed visage, golden eyes blazing as the mage stood tall, asking softly, "Dare what, Nathaniel Howe? Dare say what is? You are a Warden now, same as I, and she is our Commander. She's trying to put things right, for all of us; for all the poor, stupid, terrified masses of people too tired and too frightened to look beyond the ends of their own noses."

He looked Nathaniel up and down, expression caught between contempt and disappointment as he continued, "If you're too far up your own arse about your father, or your family's honor, or whatever else is rattling around up there between your useless ears, then I suggest you pull your head out and take a good hard look around you, before your willful ignorance and arrogant prejudice lands us all in _real_ trouble." And with that, Anders left the archer to himself, striding across the bloody field toward Talitha and Oghren. Nathaniel watched him go, irritated, angered, and more than a touch ashamed.  
\----

"You have two options before you, Velanna."  Talitha ignored the burns and bleeding bitemarks screaming against her movement, and strode across the underground arena toward the elven mage still calling frantically for her sister.  She grabbed a fistful of feathered robe and shook the elf, stunning her to silence.  "Listening now?  Good.  Two options, Velanna."  The elf's eyes, wide and dazed for a moment, narrowed, honing in on Talitha's face with all the predatory focus of a falcon; aloof, out of reach, but ever a danger to crawling things below.  "Take your hands _off_ me, **_Shem_**."  

" _No,_ "  Talitha hissed, shoving the elf back a pace, "You've murdered a _score_ of merchants and civilians at _least_ , and your mad beast-thralls and flaming Sylvans have likely killed more since our capture."  Velanna stiffened, drawing herself up like an angry cat, and Talitha could feel the magic gathering under the elf's skin.  It made her hands itch.  She pressed on.  "I sincerely hope your hunters were better at reading track signs than _you_ are, because any _Shem_ tracker would have looked at the ruins of your aravels and known straight away that something was off about what remained there.  Now!"  She shook Velanna again, "Two choices.  One, you refuse my offer, and I eviscerate you.  Two!  You join the Grey Wardens, help us resolve this new Darkspawn threat, and have some chance at recovering your sister's remains."  "She's _alive!"_ Velanna wailed.  Talitha released her hold on the mage's robes, and Velanna staggered backwards as the taller woman responded, "She's _tainted_ , Velanna.  She's dead already, and just doesn't know it."  " ** _NO!!_** " Shrieking, Velanna gathered herself, power swelling.

"Wait!   _Please!_ "  Nathaniel dodged between the women, entreating Velanna and Talitha both, hands raised in placation.  "Commander, she's just lost the last of her family," he said carefully to Talitha, "I would think that you and I both could sympathize."  Talitha blinked at him, mouth slack, sword frozen, half-drawn.  "Lady Velanna, please, you are obviously a force to be reckoned with; if you joined us, our efforts against the 'spawn would be that much more effective.  You want vengeance.  I understand that.  Come with us.  Kill darkspawn.  Avenge your Clan and your sibling."  Velanna stared at Nathaniel, eyes glittering with rage and unshed tears as mana roiled around her in wisps of blue and green.  She took in a shaky breath, and as she exhaled, the unformed spell dissipated entirely.  Woodenly, she nodded, and Talitha sheathed her sword.


End file.
